So this week we loaded up the whole family into four vehicles and set off on our annual Christmas tree hunt. This is, for us, a beloved tradition that nobody wants to miss. It’s full of magic and fun and hope.

I always hope fervently to get off the hook without depleting the bank account to the level of, say, Death Valley or the Mariana Trench.

Our family tradition really gets rolling when we pull up to the tree lot on a brisk winter night and all the little children spill out of the cars and rush through the gate to examine every single one of maybe 10,000 trees. More precisely, they listen to them. Yes, that’s right. The task is to find not just any tree but exactly the right tree — the one that has been waiting for us.

The children listen for the one tree that is calling to them: “Choose me! Choose me!” It’s a lovely tradition even if the other customers raise their eyebrows when they see this ritual performed by my 6-foot, 24-year-old son. These people really don’t understand the spirit of Christmas.

In recent years, my 20-somethings have made it a game to find the most scraggly, barren excuse of a tree in the lot and then claim it was calling to them. Everybody takes pity on this sorry cluster of branches and dead twigs that looks at though it were a picked up from the Ardennes forest after the Battle of the Bulge.

You have no idea the pressure that comes with all those little children and grandchildren all wanting to take this wreck home to show it love. This ploy actually worked on me one year when I bought two trees — or, more precisely, one tree and and a bundle of splinters. But the pathetic pine was still 50 bucks! These Christmas tree vendors can be ruthless!

This year I was determined keep it under $45, and I knew what this meant. It meant I would have to deceive my children into thinking this was the best Christmas tree we would ever have; I would have to convince them that this tree was every bit as tall as the one we had last year, and even more important that it was calling to them: “I think I hear it! Yes! It’s saying ‘Choose me!!”

The grinchy truth would be my secret to bear alone, and I was OK with that.

Everything was going very well at North Pole Trees on State Street in Orem. All the children thought they were giving a fair hearing to all the trees, but they didn’t know that I was really cleverly maneuvering them to the tree with the $45 price tag. With the $5 Family Night discount it was only going to cost $40! I was really getting into the Christmas spirit now. I called everyone to gather around and scrutinize this beauty, and they slowly meandered over from various corners of the lot. Slow was good because it’s easier to practice this deception one at a time than if you first allow them to gather. Unpredictable group dynamics could scuttle the whole scheme.

So everybody agreed. Yes, this is the very tree. “Yup, that’s the one,” I told the Christmas tree guy, who hauled it to the gate and carved an inch off the trunk with his chain saw.

Unfortunately, I had neglected to get the opinion of my 14-year-old son. He had found a $52 tree that was calling to him. I admit it was a better, taller tree, but hey, another 12 bucks means another Christmas present for somebody.

He wasn’t buying the money argument and even offered to pay the difference. I said sorry, it’s a done deal. As we rolled away with the $40 tree in the truck, I was feeling Christmas joy. By contrast, he was in the back seat sulking. A great injustice had been done. “Our” tree had been left behind.

Anyway, we made a quick stop at a retail store and there was still no joy in evidence. Something had to be done. I looked at his mother and knew I was doomed. “It’s only $12 more. What’s $12 in the grand scheme of ridiculous, over-the-top  Christmas spending over the years?” (Well, she was right about that part.)

Resigned, I resolutely turned the truck around and headed back to North Pole Trees to see if we couldn’t cheer the kid up. But now he protested that this wasn’t right. Keep the tree, he said. I don’t want to exchange it, he said. Everyone will make fun of me, he said. But we went anyway and he showed us the tree of honor. (It really was a better tree.)

The proprietor was so amused by all this that he agreed to swap the trees straight across. I shook his hand heartily and wished him a Merry Christmas. We ended up with a better tree — the one that had really called out to somebody — and for only 40 bucks!

I attribute this holiday cheer to the Ghost of Christmas Whining.